


Endless Skies

by Little_Missile



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Total Fluff, so sweet that your teeth start aching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Missile/pseuds/Little_Missile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amnesia is a bitch. Sherlock survived the fall, but doesn't remember anything, especially about John. John is determined to change that as fast as he can.</p>
<p>This fic was written some time ago last autumn, so therefore no Spoilers for the BBC Sherlock Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endless Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this wonderful song from VNV Nation 
> 
> Endless Skies
> 
> How many years since you found yourself  
> Staring at an endless sky?
> 
> You live within the sense  
> Of the order of things  
> What is truth  
> What is important  
> What defines you
> 
> No need to fear  
> No need to worry  
> About years that passed  
> About time you lost

I was dreaming. It was a sunny day. I was lying in the grass. Above me arched the endless blue sky. A few fluffy clouds slowly moved along and carried my thoughts away with them. I inhaled deeply. He was lying beside me and I noticed that he slowly turned round. In the corner of the eye I saw that he rested on a forearm and looked at me. Then I heard as he pulled a blade of grass from the meadow. He tickled me with it on the cheek and then glided slowly with it over my neck. I giggled. He bent his head down to me and his lips followed the way which the blade of grass had taken. I sighed. I turned my head in his direction and our lips touched. It was a gentle kiss. After a few minutes we broke the kiss. I looked him deeply in his searching eyes. „Sherlock, I love you." I whispered. He smiled.

  


Suddenly I woke up. Somebody must have had bumped into me. I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Now I already had been sitting in the train for several hours and the monotonous rattling of the wheels had made me drowsy. I lifted my hand to my mouth. I still could feel his lips on mine. I remembered our afternoon in the park perfectly. I was one of the many favourite moments with Sherlock that my mind had turned into a hurting memory. I looked out of the window and saw the scenery of the Swiss mountains passing. My mind still entangled in my dream I sighed deeply and tried to focus on the beautiful landscape. The mountains were topped with the rest of winter's snow and the meadows showed the early springs green.

  


I was on the way to a shockingly expensive sanatorium close to Davos. During the last two years ten months six days and too much hours I had thought that Sherlock had died. He had hunted Jim Moriarty right across Europe. I wanted to accompany him, but he had categorically refused it. At last they had confronted each other at the Reichenbach Falls. It was the ultimate duel of the opponents and they had fallen down the waterfall together.

  


Sherlock had survived the fall, but his brother Mycroft came up with the story which ended with his death. He believed it would be the best to do so. Moriarty hadn't survived the fall but his organisation was still on the loose. He wanted to make sure to rip out every root that had been left of the Consulting Crime Society before he allowed the world to know that the only Consulting Detective was still alive. And this included me as well.

  


The weeks and months and years that followed were a whirl of pain, grief and depression for me. Looking back I had lived my personal hell on earth. The loss of Sherlock simply was too much for me. Nothing made sense anymore. In every person I could see a glimpse of him. The dark curly hair I loved so much or some gestures he made so often seeing on another person could crack the rest that had been left of me. Just a dark coat swishing around a corner could make me run just to find an unknown woman wearing it. Hysterical laughter turned into hysterical sobbing. I had to quit my work at the clinic because of my outbreaks. More than once I was sitting in my office and just stared for hours into nothing. After a few weeks Sarah had advised me to leave and to only come back if I was capable of concentrating properly on my task again. That day had not arrived yet.

  


Mycroft visited me quite often and also let my supervision go on. Sometimes he asked me about my well-being, sometimes he just eyed me closely. Sometimes I had the feeling he was one step ahead of telling me something important. But I couldn't imagine what that might be. The reports he received from his minions about the crime chasing and also probably my behaviour made him finally tell me the truth about Sherlock's last duel. The last trigger for his decision he received from the doctors.

  


Sherlock had survived, but for which price. He had suffered several broken bones and a fracture of the cranial bone. Of course Mycroft had provided him for the best treatment which was possible in Switzerland. Sherlock was moved from hospital to hospital and from sanatorium to sanatorium. When I found out the whole story finally his fractures had already healed. But because of the fall his brain had been damaged also. He suffered from amnesia. He could remember nothing what had happened before the fall. His blackout probably had extinguished more than two years. Our two years.

  


The doctors believed a reunion with a person which meant a lot to him could help Sherlock to find his memory. Therefore, Mycroft came to me.

  


Of course I would do everything to help Sherlock. But first his brother had to cope with my rage. He endured my tirades without complaint. After I had calmed down somewhat I packed my suitcase. Of course Mycroft already had bought the tickets for my trip. He had exactly known that when he told me the truth I would depart immediately.

  
  


oOo

 

 

In the midst of the Swiss mountains the sanatorium in which Sherlock was treated lay embedded in an idyllic valley. A taxi had brought me straight from the station directly to my destination. On the way I had slide to and fro nervously in my seat. Would Sherlock recognize me? And if he wouldn't what I would do then? What would I feel? I admitted to myself that I was afraid. I had lost Sherlock once already. Would it feel like a renewed loss if he did not recognize me? I tried to push my doubts to the very back of my brain.

  


I got off the taxi and stretched my limbs which were stiff from the trip. The driver had brought me directly up to the entrance of the sanatorium. I wanted to check in to the hotel after I had seen Sherlock. Meanwhile my finger prickled with excitement and my belly was of full butterflies that became bigger and bigger from minute to minute. I pulled myself together and entered the building.

  


The nurse at the reception knew that my arrival was expected. She escorted me to the office of the director. There she put me in the chair directly in front of the impressive desk and asked me to wait for Dr. Beckmann. He would look after me immediately.

  


Slowly I looked around the office of the unknown doctor. What I saw made me want to work in Switzerland at once. The walls were covered with dark wood. The desk in front of me was made from the same wood. A thick beige carpet covered the floor. Hanging on the walls were countless certificates. And directly behind the swivel chair a gigantic abstract painting was on the wall. There were no file cabinets or such things in the room. The good doctor probably didn't want to see anything of his work in his office.

  


Dr. Beckmann opened the door lively and rushed in. Under his arm stuck a patient's sheet. He saw me and came closer with outstretched hand. „Dr. Watson?" I shook his hand and nodded. „Dr. Beckmann I assume?" He also nodded. Then he walked round his desk, dropped himself in his armchair and banged the patient's sheet on the table.

  


„Dr. Watson, are you in the picture about the state of Mr. Holmes? "He asked.

 

„His brother has informed me vaguely about his state and his healing process," I answered.

 

„Now, before you can see Mr. Holmes, I would like to explain a few things to you." He swung his armchair in the direction of the window. „See, Mr. Holmes is just going for his afternoon walk. Let's join him later."  
  


I rose slowly and went to the window. The office of the director was located at the back-side of the building and had a fantastic view of the mountains. The area behind the sanatorium was a vast park with many benches. The hedges and trees had been cut skilfully and formed geometrical figures and even a small maze.

  


I could not discover Sherlock right away. He walked on the path through the labyrinth. My breath stopped. From here he looked as usual. I couldn't discover any changes. I swallowed hard and had to tear myself together not to run into the park immediately.

  


I turned around and looked at Dr. Beckmann. „Then out with what you have to tell me please and tell it fast."

  


With an examining look first at me and then on the patient's sheet before him he started to speak:" Dr. Watson, as you know you're..." He briefly paused, probably to find the suitable description for Sherlock.

  


„Friend?" I prompted.  
  


"Your friend had suffered a considerable number of fractures of the extremities and the cranial base as he fell down the Reichenbach Falls. He had to be operated several times. The fractures of the legs had to be fixed by metal screws. The healing process of your friend went well according to the circumstances. I will not explain the details to you further. Because you are a doctor I would make the patient's sheets of your friend available to you with pleasure and you can find out yourself about the details." Dr. Beckmann cleared his throat.  
  


I couldn't sit still. I became impatient. „What is it about the amnesia? " I asked.  
  


„Yes, the amnesia. That's why Mr. Holmes is here in our sanatorium. The amnesia stretches over a period of two years. We assume that the combination of cranial base break and PSTD caused by the fight, the fall and the impact brought on the amnesia." Dr. Beckmann rose slowly and walked round the desk. He sat down on the edge of the table directly before me.  
  


„Sherlock Holmes remembers practically nothing from the time before the fall. We have taken a lot of tests on him. We have tried hypnosis, but his intellect cannot be hypnotized. He also rejects psychotherapy. He insists on his dismissal. He believes his recollection is still stored somewhere in his brain and that the memories will return someday. I agree with him." Dr. Beckmann got up and went to the window. „Moreover, your friend is incredibly irritating," he smiled. „He rushes our staff through the whole building and constantly steals from the treating doctors. His pick-pockets their identity cards to get out of the sanatorium."  
  


I had to laugh. „Yes that definitively sounds like Sherlock. " I became serious again. „And you have found no way to recall the memories", I stated.  
  


He nodded. „Merely in his dreams he seems to remember fragments. He keeps a dream diary, his idea not mine. Your name appears unexpectedly often in it. If I would ask him now he would not recognize you. But in his diaries one can read your common story."  
  


„Dr. Beckmann, I would like to see Sherlock now. I cannot wait any longer. Must I pay attention to something?" I had also got up.  
  


„No, Mr. Holmes is absolutely aware of his state. However, we have not told him that today you would come. So approach him slowly please, so he can take his time to remember you eventually." I nodded and was already on my way to the door.  
  


Dr. Beckmann hastened to follow me. He led through to the labyrinth of the building and showed me the way to the park. When I stepped out of the door the bright sunshine blinded me. I winked a few times, so that my eyes could get used to the brightness outside after the dark office of the director. I didn't see Sherlock immediately and thus I hurried along the gravel paths and let my gaze wander from right to left.  
  


Finally, behind the maze I found him. In the meantime Sherlock had sat down alone on a bench. He had turned his face towards the sun to enjoy the warmth of the rays. I slowed down and stopped fifteen feet before him. I soaked up his sight. He wore his usual dark suit and underneath a white shirt. He had crossed his legs on top of each other and had laid his hands in his lap. My look investigated his face. He was pale as ever. His eyes were closed, but I knew exactly how these blue eyes had always studied me. With these eyes he could look to the every corner of my heart. His dark curly hair was not as long as I was used to. I supposed that they had been clipped before the cranial operation and had almost grown back again in the meantime.  
  


My hands still knew what it felt like ruffling these curls. My heart jumped, stopped and hammered away. My throat was quite dry and I was undecided whether I should say something or not. Now I already stood quiet for a while and was torn whether to speak to Sherlock. My brain still had to process the fact that Sherlock was alive and breathing. He sat directly before me and I feared that a word of me would destroy the illusion. That I would wake up, just like this morning on the train, the feeling of his lips still on mine, and I would be alone.  
  


I cleared my throat and straightened myself. The soldier in me ordered myself not to be such a terrible coward.  
  


My clearing the throat had been heard by Sherlock and slowly he opened his eyes. „I had already asked myself whether you have solidified there to a salt column", he sneered. His face showed the well known arrogant mask which he always displayed with pleasure in front of strangers. Then he looked at me and fell silent. His look focused on me.  
  


My God, there were his eyes. These blue laser beams which I had missed for so long. My throat knotted itself and everything I had wanted to say resolved into air.  
  


Slowly Sherlock looked me up from head to toe. I could feel his look washing over me. He got up from the bench. Without turning his look away he slowly came up to stand in front of me. He left a gap of five feet as he stopped.  
  


Suddenly his mask cracked open. I could see how his true self was washed up to the surface. I never had been able to read his face so well like now. His play of features was a slow and steady river. He showed me his thoughts and emotions which he hid, otherwise, so carefully. First he was insecure and in doubt. I was unknown to him. However, I had to know him, didn't I? Why, otherwise, I should stand here before him and look at him expectantly. Then I could see as the knowledge penetrated into his consciousness slowly. His look became soft and affectionate. Meanwhile my breath went fast and irregular. Slowly he lifted his right hand to touch me on the left shoulder. I could feel how he investigated my scar hidden under my jumper. I wore the black-and-white striped jumper which he had always liked most. His clutch became more firm. He took a deep breath and asked quietly „ J-John?"  
  


A thick lump of tears hindered me to speak and therefore I nodded. He whispered my name uncertainly again. „John? Do I know you?"  
  


I nodded again. I felt a single tear was running slowly down my cheek. "Yes", I said, „My name is John."  
  


Sherlock took one step closer and lifted his other hand to my face. Slowly his fingers touched my cheeks, my forehead, my eyes and my lips. It felt as if he explored my face to make his body and brain remember me. It seemed like he compared the fresh gained data with the lost memories which slowly ascended to the surface.  
  


„I remember you", he said after a while. „I have known you. I..." he trailed off.  
  


My cheeks were, in the meantime, flooded with tears. His fingers had to be quite wet. With both hands he held my face. Our looks crossed. Slowly he bent his head down. I hyperventilated. His lips fell on my mouth and he kissed me. I closed my eyes. The kiss lasted a small eternity. I laid my arms firmly around his waist and pulled him closer until our bodies touched. Happiness bubbled up inside me. My thoughts raced. Never let him go, never let him go, never let him go.  
  


Sherlock lifted his head slowly and broke the kiss. He looked into my eyes again. His brain had found the access to his memories. He smiled.  
  


„John!...My John!...I love you John. Will you take me home?"  
  


I saw up to the blue endless sky. Finally, the earth turned again for me. I was grinning insanely as I answered.  
  


"Oh God yes!"  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, my version of a post-Reichenbach-Fic. This is what you get, when I' m bored on my way home because of a huge traffic-jam. Postet on FF originally.


End file.
